I took the excessive noise as a sign that Grayson wanted me to wake. If the loud banging of suitcases against the stairs wasn't enough to wake me, the banging of dishes definitely was. Rubbing my eyes, I grudgingly rose from my mattress, walking towards the ruckus.

     He was making toast.

     "How does one make so much noise using a toaster?"

     "Are you hungry?" He ignored my question.

     "Always."

     "Then accept the food I've made gracefully and ask no questions."

     Turning to hand me my plate, his eyes grew big, lips threatening to break into a smile. Blue eyes were fixed on my hair.

     "If you wish to have me present during breakfast you will gracefully accept and make no comment of the mess on my head."

     "What mess?"

     Rolling my eyes, I took a bite of the peanut butter toast.

     "Are we in a rush?" I asked. He had long finished his plate, and was packing the little food, he brought into a red cooler bag.

     "No," he said, still packing.

     "Then why is all our stuff already packed and in the car before 7:30?"

     "You don't like packing," he said, as though the answer was obvious. "You also enjoy sleeping... I just figured I'd save myself a headache."

     I eyed him skeptically.

     "Well..." he started. There it was. I braced myself. "I was hoping to make one more stop, on our way out."

     "How many people?"

     "Just the one," he said. "But she won't welcome you like the others did."

     "What's that supposed to mean?"

     "You'll see."

     "Grayson—"

     Making a show of sealing his lips, he offered me no explanation.

     As much as I was initially displeased by the idea of the trip, I felt a certain sadness leaving the small town of Stanley. Leaning against the window, staring at the passing trees, our departure was bittersweet. Fortunately, I didn't have much time to dwell on my mixed feelings. I shouldn't have said fortunately. By the obvious uncertainty on Grayson's face, I knew what was to come would be anything but fortunate.

     Watching him hesitate as he pulled into someone's driveway, I put my face into my hands.

     "Grayson," I sighed. "Why do I feel like this is going to be one of your worst ideas?"

     His smile could only mean trouble. "It is imperative to our friendship that you remember Mrs. Darcy."

     "You're avoiding my concerns."

     "I admittedly don't know how well this is going to go," he said. "I'm hoping this will go quite bad."

     Bad? I followed him out of the car, feelings as though I would regret doing so. My gaze flickered between him and the approaching house with uncertainty.

     "This person doesn't like us, does she?"

     Grayson snorted. "That's an understatement."

     "Old teacher?"

     He nodded. "I think we're the reason she retired. She was the biggest Grexa hater," he started. Cringing at his mixing of our names, I forced myself to listen. I wanted to know what I was getting myself into. "We were always getting in trouble with her. I can't even count the number of detentions she gave us. She had the uncanny ability to blame us for just about anything."

     "So, why are we here?" I asked. "I think we should—"

     Before I could finish my sentence, before I could talk him out of it, he rang the doorbell.

     "Damn it, Grayson."

     "If it makes you feel better, I'll ask her politely first. I'll take matters into my own hands if she doesn't agree."

     Before I could question him on what he wanted her to agree to, the door swung open.

     Mrs. Darcy was short. Very short, nearly a foot shorter than me. Grey hair tamed neatly; unnaturally straight locks fell right below her long ears. Eyes so brown that they looked black, thin brows in a stern frown and face wrinkled, she was intimidating.

     "Hello!" Grayson greeted her much too enthusiastically.

     She didn't respond. It seemed he somehow had the ability to irritate her quicker than he did me. He had barely spoken, and already her jaw was clenched. She detested us, that enough was clear.

     "Grayson Ryder." she scowled, spitting out his name as though it was venom. Black eyes moving away from him, they landed on me, widening slightly before returning to its cold scold.

     "I thought you were dead," she noted flatly, not disappointed by the news but also not excited or pleased.

     "Not dead," I managed, slightly taken-a-back. "Just a little messed up."

     "So, nothing new?"

     Eyebrows briefly shooting into my hairline, rapidly I mimicked her expression of displeasure. Turning, I shot Grayson the go ahead, sign. He had my permission to mess with the old woman. Forget the polite approach.

     "What do you want?" Mrs. Darcy demanded.

     "We need you to chase us down the street like you used to do," Grayson explained casually, as though it wasn't a ridiculous thing to ask a person.

     "No." She slammed the door in our faces.

     "Well...I asked."

     Taking a step back, I gave Grayson a thumbs up, allowing him space to do whatever needed to be done. Waiting with interest for his next move, it was much more childish than I had expected. Finger returned to the doorbell, he moved it up and down speedily.

     She lasted longer than I thought. Grayson's finger must have been getting tired by the time he finally paused. Listening closely to the other side of the door, he dashed off the porch, pulling me down with him. We waited in her front yard, a safe distance away.

     "Don't mess with me," she warned, teeth bared menacingly.

     Staring us down, she waited for us to leave. We didn't. We didn't move an inch until she stepped back inside. The moment the door shut; Grayson left my side. Wearily climbing the steps, he beat his hand against the wooden door. His hand barely touched the surface, before it swung open, revealing the enraged woman, old wooden cane in hand. Uh oh.

     Making a dash for the parked car, Mrs. Darcy fast on our heels, Grayson shoved me into the passenger seat and jumped over to his side of the car. Slowed down from making sure I got in safely, Grayson received a blow to the chest, but otherwise managed to enter the car untouched.

     Safe in his seat, the car roared forward.

     Breathing heavily from the running, I stared at Mrs. Darcy's fading figure in the rear-mirror, crazed look on my face until I burst into laughter. Grayson, less breathless, laughed as well, running a hand through his wild hair as he too snuck a glance in the mirror.

     "Has that happened a lot?" I asked.

     "Only about every second weekend," he chuckled. "There's not much to do in Stanley, we had to keep ourselves occupied somehow."

      Maybe the poor woman had good reason to despise us.

     I shook my head amusedly. "As funny as that was, please tell me this is the last time we'll be chased."

     His answer took much longer than I would have liked. His hesitation was immensely concerning. "Last time," he eventually promised. "Well, last intentional time."

     "So, nothing crazier?"

     "You thought that was crazy?" He watched me almost sympathetically.

     "It wasn't?"

     "That was nothing," he said. "You've only recently started to trust me. I've only just begun."